Wildflowers
by AnnaKintheGracious
Summary: Hanna was on a road trip with her aunt and uncle when it happened: the infection. As time passes, her aunt has a baby, adding to their numbers. Then one day, her uncle, soon followed by her aunt, are bit, leaving her to fend for herself with a baby in tow. That is, until two Grimes men come upon her hiding spot. Includes: Eventual Daryl x OC. Lots of friendship with both Grimes men
1. Chapter 1: Cobwebs and Footsteps

_Hello everyone! I just wanted to share with you the first chapter of my brand new (and first ever) fanfiction! So far this is all I have, but I have a general idea of where I'm going with it (eventual Daryl x OC), but for now, I'm all written out. Also, I'm going to try to follow the show as much as I can, but unfortunately, this is as far as I've gotten in TWD so far. Finally, I might change the name of this fic later (I can never pick a name for my writing until I'm done, so that makes this a bit difficult). Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!_

 _P.S. This starts in 4x09, after the Governor attacked the the prison again… And of course, SPOILER ALERT._

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I can remember it now, the cold of the hardwood flooring against my bare skin where my shirt had ridden up as I frantically dragged my baby cousin along with me, pulling us under the large queen bed of the gorgeous master suite. A spider crawled across a cobweb an inch ahead of me. My heart pounding against my ribcage, I held my breath, praying that whoever had just entered couldn't find us. Mason began to whimper next to me. In a panic, I rapidly clapped my hand over his mouth, whispering in his ear to be quiet. I held my breath as I heard footsteps falling lightly on the wooden floor of the entry way downstairs.

After what felt like hours, I heard one man say something to whomever came with him. This was soon followed by loud yells, and I felt my heart lurch as they sounded, each punctuated by a loud thump, as if someone were stomping on the floor:

"Hey asshole!" Thump. "Hey shitface!" Thump. "Hey-!"

The last yell was interrupted, as the first man yelled to the second, "Watch your mouth!" The second man responded, and the two continued to make their way through the house. My heartbeat began to pick up again as one of the men began to make his way up the stairs, not bothering to hide the sound of his coming. The tension grew thicker as he continued, coming closer to my hiding space. I held my breath, closing my eyes tightly as the hinges on the room's door squeaked. I let it out in relief when the sound of his footsteps began to move further away.

I remained under that bed for what felt like hours, desperately hoping not to be discovered. I tried to think of a way of escape, to no avail. When I finally heard the sound of furniture scraping against the wood floor downstairs, I knew there was no hope of escaping anytime soon. I looked over at my little cousin only to discover that he was already well on his way to sleep. Not removing my hand from the boy's mouth, I closed my eyes, allowing the built-up fatigue of three days spent fighting off walkers with no chance for sleep to claim me. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was the sound of muffled conversation downstairs.

The next thing I knew, I was jolted awake by the sound of a distant gunshot, soon followed by four more. Immediately, my heart picked up it's pace, as I tried to register where I was and what was happening. Looking to Mason, I quickly noticed his wide eyes, filled with fear, and the tears streaming down his 1 ½ year old cheeks. He began to whimper again, reaching for me as I quietly reminded him that we must stay quiet and clamped my hand over his mouth once again. I lay there silently, hearing nothing coming from downstairs, where I believed the men to have taken up residence. After debating with myself a few seconds, I determined that now would be the time to go for it. Just as I began to emerge from underneath the bed, I heard a door close. My heart skipped a beat as I slid back under the bed, beginning to cry in desperation.

I heard the second man begin to speak, the sound slightly muffled, making it difficult for me to understand what was being said. After several moments of speaking, his voice began to raise until I could hear him. He began to scream at the first man about how it was his fault. "They counted on you!" he screamed. "You were their leader!"

As I watched Mason through tear-blurred eyes, he removed his face from where he had buried it in my neck long enough to take note of the tears streaming down my face. I watched as these tears, which were born of desperation, created an even deeper terror in his large, sweet eyes. Then, he opened his mouth underneath my palm and began to wail at top volume. I pulled him even closer into my embrace, as I frantically tried to calm him. I heard footsteps move their way up the stairs, terror filling my own soul, as I knew that there would be no escape for us. The door creaked open, and filthy, boot-clad feet approached the bed slowly, filled with caution and precision. Then I heard the voice of the second man calling out.

"Come on out, now," he commanded, firm and gruff. Knowing I was out of options, I slowly slid from under the bed, Mason in my arms, his face buried in my neck once again, as he wailed. "Now get up - slowly." I began to stand, carefully taking in the intruder's appearance. I was shocked to discover that he was, in fact, not a man, but a boy, a few inches shorter than I, with shaggy light-brown hair, and clad in a pair of hiking boots, dark jeans, a blue and gray baseball shirt, and an old worn-out stetson. I was equally as shocked to discover the gun he held, pointed directly at my head.

Filled with alarm, I managed to stutter out, "W-w-who are you?"

"Carl Grimes," he responded.


	2. Chapter 2: Sweetcorn

Recognizing my fear, the boy lowered his gun, stuffing it in the back of his pants. I released a breath filled with pent-up anxiety, eyeing him warily; I had yet to come across a single kind person in all my years of travel since the outbreak. "Come on downstairs," Carl invited, turning on his heel and striding purposefully toward the main floor. Seeing no other option now that I had been discovered, I followed, careful to remain several feet behind the boy at every moment. He led me to the house's once-lavish front sitting room.

As we entered the room, I shrank back in apprehension at the sight of the scruffy man, looking rather worse-for-the-wear, lying on the sofa that blocked the front door, eyes closed in what appeared to be a peaceful sleep. Without so much as a glance at me, Carl said, "That's my dad. Don't worry about it too much," his voice containing a hint of anger. Then stopping abruptly in the middle of the room, as if something suddenly occurred to him, he turned to me and nodded at Mason, with his face currently nestled in my neck as he continued whimpering. "He's gonna be hungry soon," the boy remarked. "You, too. I'll go get us something." With that, he snatched a bag off the floor, walked past me, through the house, and out the back door, leaving me standing in the middle of the sitting room with a fussy baby on one shoulder, an unconscious man on the couch, and a flabbergasted expression on my face; I had no idea what to do.

So, I did the first thing that popped into my mind; I took Mason and hunkered down in the far corner, back to the wall, watching Carl's dad warily. Not taking my eyes of the unconscious man, I began to calm the baby, rocking him back and forth and rubbing his back soothingly as I hummed "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" in his ear quietly, hoping that the man would not awaken soon. I knew that just because Carl had decided to help me, at least for the time-being, that didn't mean that his father would be so agreeable. I also knew that, based upon his build, if the man should wake up, even in his clearly weakened state, I would be unable to defend myself. So, I chose to remain vigilant.

I sat there in that corner, baby in my arms and man in my sights, for hours. Carl finally returned, one shoe missing, as the sky began to darken, shutting and blocking the back door before shuffling through the house toward my current occupancy. Glancing at me briefly, he reached his hand into his bag and I tensed. I sighed in relief when, instead of a weapon, he withdrew a can of sweetcorn and tossed it to me. Then, he dropped the bag to the floor, pulled off his hat, and dropped to the ground at the foot of the sofa, leaning his head back onto the couch at his dad's feet and sleeping.

I tried unsuccessfully to open the can, only to give up, placing Mason, who by now had fallen into a fitful slumber, on the ground in our corner and heading to the kitchen to find something to open it with. After trying several cupboards, I pulled open a draw to discover, amongst the spoons and forks, one lone knife, just sharp enough to open the can. Grabbing a spoon as well, I returned to the corner of the sitting room, where I proceeded to stab the top of the can with the knife and cut in a circle, effectively removing the top. Then, while Carl and Mason slept, I sat cross-legged on the floor, digging into my can of sweetcorn, only stopping once I had eaten two-thirds, knowing that Mason would need some as well. After that, I laid down on the hardwood floor next to my cousin, careful to shelter him between me and the wall, and fell asleep.

I awoke with a start to the sound of Carl frantically reaching for and cocking his gun, now sitting several feet away from the sofa, his back pressed against an overturned leather armchair. I watched as he aimed the gun at his father, breathing rapidly, and his father's own raspy breaths grew as he reached his arm out toward the boy. My heart picked up speed as I realized what was happening; Carl's dad must have turned. Eyes wide in terror, I watched through the dark as the man fell off of the sofa, still reaching for Carl, while the boy began to sob.

"I can't," Carl exclaimed in defeat, as his father's hand latched onto his still shoe-clad foot. "I was wrong," he cried. "Just do it." I prayed that Mason would not wake up. I hoped against hope that this new walker would not notice myself and my cousin, huddled in the corner.

When I heard the man wheeze, "Carl", in his low, southern accent, it felt as if, for a split second, my heart stopped. As Carl looked on in astonishment, his father tried to get up onto his knees, using all of his energy to entreat the boy, "Don't go outside. Stay safe." Completely spent, the man collapsed to the floor, and Carl moved, placing the man's head in his lap and beginning to sob.

"I'm scared," he cried, placing his forehead against that of his father. "I'm scared. I'm scared." Beginning to realise that Carl, in fact, meant me no harm, and that there was no reason for me to fear him, I slowly slid across the floor to him, placing my hand on the back of his head to gently draw his attention.

"We're all scared," I said softly. Then Carl did something entirely unexpected; he turned to me, his father's head still in his lap, and wrapped his arms around my neck. I sat there for a moment, stunned, before I wrapped my own arms around his torso, feeling his body wracked by sobs. The boy was alone, so I determined to remind him that he wasn't. If only someone had been there to give me that reassurance when my aunt and uncle died. I sat there, holding this boy in my embrace, for anywhere from minutes to hours, before retreating back into my corner to feed my cousin, who had awoken to the sound of Carl's sobs. Then, I returned to my sleep.

I woke up several hours later to discover Carl and his dad sitting up, side by side, leaning against the sofa, talking.

"You shouldn't have risked it, going out there like that," his father said. "It's dangerous."

"I was careful," Carl replied, glancing over at his father.

Returning the glance, the man nodded. "It's good that you found more food."

"I found even more," Carl responded, "but, I ate it." He glanced at the ground for a moment before glancing up at the opposite wall.

"What was it?"

"112 ounces of pudding," the boy remarked with a slight smirk. His father chuckled, shaking his head in wonder.

"I know- we'll never get things back to the way they used to be," the man began, solemnly.

"What?"

"I only clung to that for you. For Judith. Now she's gone. And you, you're a man, Carl. You're a man." With that, the two glanced up at one another. "I'm sorry."

At that exact moment, Mason decided to wake up, fussing and crying. All eyes turned to me, and I sat up, realizing I had been caught watching the quiet exchange. Then, I saw something I never expected to see on another person: a smile. Carl's dad smiled at me welcomingly and gave me a nod. "Carl tells me that you helped him while I was out of it," he declared.

"Well, it's more like he helped me, sir," I responded shyly.

"That's Rick to you," he said, reaching out a hand.

"Hanna," I announced, shaking his outstretched hand. "And this is Mason," I declared, picking up the baby and placing him against my chest in an attempt to sooth him. Then all of a sudden, we heard a firm knocking on the front door. All eyes were on the door, the tension growing rapidly, as both Grimes men reached for their weapons. The two got up, Rick approaching the door as Carl backed up a step, raising his weapon in preparation to defend us from whoever may come through the door. Rick peeked through the peephole, glanced at the floor, and then dropped onto the sofa, chuckling, with a huge grin on his face.

"What?" Carl whispered to his father.

Then Rick looked him right in the eyes, a wide grin on his face, and declared, "It's for you."


	3. Chapter 3: The Man with the Ball

I glanced up from where I sat playing with Mason at the sound of Carl's laughter. Peeking my head through the doorway, I watched as Michonne gently placed two bottled waters on the large dining table, rolling up the sleeves to her new, oversized button-up shirt. "Do you have something to say about my extremely comfortable and attractive shirt?" she questioned Carl.

"No, no, no," he managed to stutter through his chuckles. "It looks great."

"How about I get one?" I hollered from my perch on the floor. Both pairs of eyes turned to me. "And you missed a button," I continued, causing Carl to snicker even more.

"There's plenty more, right upstairs," Michonne hollered back, a playful grin gracing her full lips and her eyes full of mischief. I returned to playing with my cousin when I heard the sound of wood scraping against wood and plastic crinkling, telling me that she had sat down to eat. Pouring some cereal into her bowl, she remarked, "I wish we had some soy milk."

"Seriously?" Carl responded, the sound of disbelief evident in his voice.

"Yes, seriously," said Michonne. "You gonna back me up on this, Hanna?" she hollered, and I looked up to see both sets of eyes once again on me.

"I agree with Michonne," I began, holding up an index finger when Carl began to protest. "I'm lactose intolerant."

"My best friend in third grade, he was allergic to dairy," Carl explained, "and every day he would bring this soy stuff to lunch. I tried it and I threw up."

"Oh yeah, right," Michonne replied.

"All right, all right, I almost threw up. But I was like…" This was soon followed by the sound of Carl's poor attempts at mimicking the noises of vomiting as Michonne began to laugh. "It was so gross. I mean, literally, I would rather have powdered milk than to have to drink that stuff again. I would rather have Judith's formula-" Suddenly, he cut off, the room going dead silent. The tension in the air was so thick a person could cut it with a knife. Just as abruptly, he stood up and excused himself from the table, muttering something about reading.

After a moment, as quietly as I could, so as not to disturb the tension, I got up from where I sat and began to move toward where Michonne sat. Stopping just behind her, I placed my hand on her shoulder and, holding my breath, I asked, "Who's Judith?"

"His baby sister," she responded. At that I felt my stomach lurch and twist. I imagined how I would feel should something happen to Mason, and I felt sick to my stomach. I would die if something happened to him. I would no longer have a purpose. I stood there, hand on her shoulder, for a moment longer, before quietly returning to my spot on the floor with Mason. I sat there contemplating baby Judith's fate as I played with my own reason for living.

After another moment, I heard Michonne get up from the table and quietly pad her way into the kitchen, where she began a soft discussion with Rick. Soon the conversation ended and Michonne returned, a bag clutched in her hand. She stopped next to me, declaring, "We need more supplies. I'll take Carl and get some."

"Can I come?" I asked, desperately wanting to feel as if I was of some use to the group.

"No," she responded quietly, "Rick needs someone to look after him. And that baby of yours needs you." She trudged past me and up the stairs, collecting Carl and heading for the front door, Rick and I following close behind, Mason on my hip.

"How long do you think it'll take?" I question.

"Fill a couple bags, shouldn't be too long," Michonne responds, turning to us.

With a sigh, Rick pulls a watch out of his pocket, glancing down at it before remarking, "It's 8:15 now."

"We'll be back by noon," Michonne replied, as Rick placed the watch back into his pocket.

Turning to his son, Rick told him, "All right, you follow her lead." He glanced down at the gun in his hand pensively for a moment, then handing it over to Carl. "You understand?" he questioned, looking at the boy eye-to-eye. When his son didn't respond, he continued, "Hey, you okay?" To that, Carl responded with a nod and a mutter about being hungry. Then, the pair took off.

I returned to the house first, Rick remaining on the porch to watch them go. He returned a few moments later, closing the door and pushing the sofa in front of it once again with a grunt. He dropped onto the arm of the sofa and I stood, watching him thoughtfully. After a moment, I cleared my throat, drawing his attention. I opened my mouth, prepared to question him about Judith. After a second, however, I changed directions; it was not my place to pry. Instead, I asked him, "So what do we do now?"

"Guess we just relax," he responded. "I'm gonna go read." Then, he stood, heading for the stairs. I placed Mason on the rug to play, moving to the elegant dining table. I filled a bowl with the last of the cereal and began to eat. When I finished, I grabbed the baby, carrying him up the stairs. Noticing Rick asleep in the master suite, I moved on to one of the other bedrooms. After a quick inspection, I determined that there was nothing that would be dangerous to my cousin and placed him on the floor, closing the door and collapsing to the bed in exhaustion from the last day's events.

I awoke, several hours later, to find Mason oohing and aahing at the sight of the pictures in one of the comic books strewn across the floor. Feeling the all too familiar feeling of a full bladder, I got up and headed for the bathroom, making sure to close the bedroom door behind me so as to keep Mason from wandering out toward the stairs. As I sat down on the toilet, I heard a noise that made my heart stop: someone slammed the door open, the sofa gliding across the floor. As quickly as I could, I stood, pulling my underwear and pants back up and re-buckling my belt.

My heart picked up pace as I heard the sound of an unknown male voice, deep and gruff, issue a command that I could not make out. Then, very quickly, and argument erupted between two other men, one man apologizing profusely while the other called him a coward. The next thing I knew, there was a scuffle and the man apologizing screamed, followed by a whole group of men's laughter.

My breath caught in my throat as I realized that I had left Mason alone in the bedroom. I raced across the hall, frantically trying to reach him as I heard the sound of footsteps approaching the bottom of the stairs. The second I had the baby in my arms, I flinched, feeling the grip of a rough, calloused hand on my bicep. Turning, shaking like a leaf, I saw that it was Rick, silently gesturing for me to follow him. We bolted back across the hall to the master bedroom as the sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs. Then Rick pushed me and Mason under the bed, sliding under just before the man coming up the stairs came into visibility.

I held my breath, hand over Mason's mouth once again, as the man strode across the landing and into the room, stopping mere inches from our hiding spot with his muddied and worn shoes. He then turned and walked to the closet, inspecting it, and returned to our hiding spot. Glancing over, I realized that Rick was shaking, as the soft sound of ticking came from his watch. He pulled it from his pocket, placing it in his hand to muffle the sound, making it altogether unable to be heard. Then the man came around to the side of the bed and lowered himself down, sighing as he got himself comfortable. Soon, he drifted off to sleep.

After a while, right as we were about to try to make our escape, a second man entered the room, complaining about how he wanted to lie down. When the man on the bed responded that there were other beds in the house, he declared that, because they were kids' beds they weren't good enough. Soon enough, a fight broke out between the two over whether or not the bed had been claimed. We could hear the punches flying and the men's grunts as I looked to Rick, having no clue what to do next. Then, one man pushed the other to the floor, right in front of us. My heart skipped a beat when, in the midst of the fight, he happened to glance over at us. I held my breath as I listened to the man on the floor tell the other one, named Len, to stop. For an instant, I was sure we had been found out. However, Len choked him to death while we watched, eyes locked with the now-dead man lying on the floor.

"My bed now, jackoff," Len exclaimed, hopping onto the bed and drifting off to sleep. After we were convinced that Len was fully asleep, Rick nodded to me, and he began to slide slowly out from under the bed. He turned and gestured for me to pass him the baby. However, as I did, Mason looked at me with brown eyes filled with terror, and began to whimper. That was enough to wake Len. I felt as Mason was shoved back into my arms. Rick began to fight Len, overpowering him in his still sleep-addled state. I heard the smack of Len's head against the bedframe followed by Rick's whispered command to come out.

"Tony, Len, get your asses down here," someone called from the bottom of the stairs. When there was no response from Len, the man began to make his way up the stairs, bouncing a ball as Rick and I scurried across the hall to one of the kids' rooms, me trying to keep Mason quiet. We backed up into the room, trying to make ourselves invisible in the corner just inside the door as the man came and stood standing in the doorway, bouncing his ball. We each let out a sigh of relief as the man turned and walked away in search of Len.

After frantically trying the windows, we turned to find another way out when we heard one of the men declare that a woman was staying there. I looked at Rick in terror as the man laid claim to her, declaring that he found her just-washed clothes - Michonne's clothes. Then, all hell broke loose. We heard the man with the ball howl that someone beat the shit out of Len, hollering at everybody to find the person who did it. When he took off down the stairs, we hightailed it for the nearest room we could find - the bathroom - only to find a man there. In an instant Rick had the man with the strap of his own gun wrapped around his neck, choking to death.

When the man had been taken care of, Rick grabbed his gun and tried the window, which opened. We slid out the window as we heard the men slamming open doors and hollering, getting closer to our location. Out on the roof, we headed to the nearest edge and Rick jumped down first, turning and reaching up for Mason, who had by now begun to learn not to cry. I tossed him down, praying that Rick would catch him, and followed quickly after.

Cautiously working our way around the house, we flattened ourselves against the side of the porch when we heard someone come charging out of the house, huffing and puffing in rage. "Ugh!" the man hollered, just before turning and heading back into the house. Right at that second, we saw Carl and Michonne come strolling down the corner, smiling, and with one last glance, we took off sprinting toward them, with quiet cries of, "Go! Go!"


	4. Chapter 4: Restitution

"This seems as good a place as any," Rick declared, pulling the strap of his white bag over his shoulder and dropping it to the ground just next to an old, blue, run-down SUV. With a sigh of relief, I dropped to the ground in the middle of the road. We had been walking for days, ever since we escaped the group of men at the house, and I had grown weary of the constant travel, which was compounded by the tediously slow pace we needed to maintain because of the various injuries Rick had acquired over the past week or so. After days of near constant walking, stopping only for four hour periods at a time, the journey had become incredibly tiresome.

When we escaped Len's group, toward the beginning of our journey, we happened upon a sign, old and worn, advertising some place called Terminus. The sign, placed on a decrepit boxcar along a set of railroad tracks leading out of town, read, "Sanctuary for all, community for all. Those who arrive, survive." At that, I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, thinking that it must be to good to be true. However, I simply chalked it up to all of the time that I had spent on my own; I had come to learn that there are very few people that one could trust in this world anymore.

At the SUV, I reached up and pulled Mason from the homemade sling I wore. Giving the baby a quick peck, I passed him on to Carl, who had already climbed in the truck and laid down, fidgeting to get comfortable. "I'm gonna get some firewood," I announced. "Watch her?"

Shrugging his shoulders, the boy responded, "Sure. Remember to stay close." Then he passed me his gun for protection, though I would not admit that I wouldn't know how to use it, even if I needed to. Stuffing the handgun in the waistband of my jeans, I headed toward the woods at the edge of the road. As I gathered, I began to take careful note of our surroundings. We were the only people on a run-down stretch of abandoned highway bordered on each side by woods. As I looked closer, I noticed a sparse population of wildflowers, dressed in shades of white and yellow. Looking on, the view left me breathless; it was enough to make me forget for a moment about everything that had happened over the past few years.

I was broken from my reverie by the crunching sound of feet against the dried grass and leaves that covered the road. As the feet approached, I hear Rick, closer now than I had expected, ask me, "You okay?"

"Yeah," I responded, turning to look him directly in the eyes. "I was just- remembering." Rick nodded, a look of understanding crossing his face.

Stepping toward him, I asked quietly, gently, "Can I ask you something?" At his nod, I continued. "What happened to Judith?" First a look of astonishment, followed by one of despair, clouded his eyes as he registered my question.

Taking a deep breath, he began, eyes on the ground and fingers fiddling with one another. "She was Carl's baby sister. We- Carl, Michonne, and I- we were part of a group before. We had a camp, safe. But another group wanted it. So they fought us." Looking up, his eyes connected with mine. "They won. After, I tried to find her. The only thing left was her carrier, covered in blood."

Cautiously, I stepped toward him, taking his hand in both of my own. Gazing into his eyes, something passed between us. It was almost a passing of knowledge, the understanding that we each knew one another's pain. We each understood how it felt to feel emptiness at the loss of another person - a deep, soul-shaking, to-the-bone type of emptiness. Taking another breath, Rick shook his head, squeezed my hand, and turned back to Michonne, who stood at the hood of the truck, hand on hip, watching us, with an unreadable look in her eyes. I followed a moment later, my arms full of branches, and we began to set up camp.

A few hours later, the sky had darkened to black and I sat with Rick and Michonne, discussing the rabbit we had just eaten about an hour before as Carl and Mason sat sound asleep in the back seat of the truck. Face lit by the glow of the campfire, Rick glanced first at Michonne and then at me. Then he glanced at the ground, releasing a sigh. "That was one small rabbit," he remarked quietly.

"It was something," Michonne responded. "Gotta hand it to the thing. It traveled well." When we picked it up, we were on the run, being chased by a larger group of walkers.

Rick glanced back up at Michonne, returning his glance to the fire before responding. "Have you noticed that's all we talk about anymore? Food. I forgot what this feels like."

"Me, too," replied Michonne, glancing briefly up at Rick before looking at me.

"I hope we can forget about it soon," I said, sighing.

Rick nodded. "We're close. Just gotta make it through another day," he said as he started to kick dirt onto the fire, effectively putting it out.

"What about Terminus?" I questioned. I felt as if something was off about the entire venture, but if Rick and Michonne thought it was worth it, I knew I would be willing to try, if nothing else than to avoid alienating the three people on this planet that I trusted.

"If folks there are taking people in," Rick commented, "they have to be strong. They have to have a system."

"I wonder if the whole thing's legit," Michonne mused. Not a second after the words left her mouth, we heard a twig snap in the woods. Leaping to our feet, each pulled out our weapons, looking to the woods, ready for a fight. After a moment, with no further action, we relaxed, sitting back down in our original positions to resume the conversation.

"We let people in," Rick said, insinuating that perhaps this Terminus group may not be so bad.

To that, Michonne responded, "We did. So did the Governor." At the look on her face, I knew that she was referring to one of the men who tried to take over their camp.

Rick nodded. "Yeah, it's always the same, isn't it? Don't get to know until we know." Looking up at us, he continued, "Maybe this place isn't even there anymore."

The next thing we knew, there was a man holding a gun to Rick's head. "Oh dearie me," he declared, and the sound of his voice struck me as familiar. Though I couldn't quite place it, I felt a panic rising in my gut, beginning to take over me. Kicking Michonne's katana from her, he continued, "You screwed up, asshole." Then, I was horrified to see a whole group of men emerge from the woods. Suddenly, it struck me where I recognized his voice from; he was with the group of men that we escaped at the house. He was the man with the ball.

"You hear me?" the man proceeded. "You screwed up." I glanced to the side, and terror gripped my heart when I noticed a man moving toward the truck, where Carl and Mason were sleeping. All guns pointed at us, I tried to think of some way that I could get to the truck and protect the boys. I quickly realized, however, that it would be futile.

"Today is a day of reckoning, sir. Restitution" leered the man with the ball. Now that I got a good look at him, he didn't appear quite so intimidating, except for the fact that he had a gun to Rick's head. Big and beefy, he appeared to be about the same height as Rick, his gray hair and beard a bit unkempt. He looked a bit like my grandfather did before he passed, causing him to seem less menacing. That is, until I remembered that he and his men had their guns pointed at us.

"A balancing of the whole damn universe," he continued, a taunting tone to his voice. "Shit, and I was thinkin' of turnin' in for the night on New Year's Eve." The sound of his laughter startled Mason, who began to cry when he awoke to find a strange man leering at him through the window of the SUV. At the sound of Mason's wails, the man smiled. "Now how 'bout that, folks? I always wanted a kid. Well, y'know what? When we're finished with you, I take him." At the thought of that man raising Mason, who in many ways was my own child, I visibly tensed. The man noticed my movement, turning to me with a smirk on his face and asking, "Oh, is he yours? Don't worry, I'll raise 'im like my own."

"But first things first," he declared, turning back to his men. "Who's gonna count down the ball dropper with me, huh?" Then he began to count down from ten, his gun pressed against Rick's temple. I could see Rick fighting himself over whether or not to attack, to try and fight his way to the truck to rescue the boys. The tension grew as he counted. "Nine Mississippi, eight Mississippi."

"Joe!" a man called out, interrupting the counting. I looked up as another man stepped from the shadows, and when he and I locked eyes, for just a moment, it felt as if time itself had stopped.

* * *

 _Ooh! Do you like that ending? I'm so excited! We're finally getting to the good stuff! For all you Bethyl-lovers, don't worry. I want this to be a slow-burn, so I'm not planning on Adda and Daryl getting together officially until after Beth's demise, although there will probably be some feelings that develop before then._


	5. Chapter 5: Trust

"Joe!" a man called, stepping from the shadows, clothed in all black, a crossbow in his right hand and a plastic bag in the left. For the briefest of moments, my eyes met his, and a tremor ran through my body. Then his eyes left mine, and I take a breath, my mind suddenly snapping to attention. "Hold up," he said, his voice gruff. I glanced at Rick and Michonne and immediately recognized the look of shock and utter disbelief painting their eyes.

"You're stopping me on eight, Daryl," replied the man with the ball, gun still pressed to Rick's head. Daryl continues to approach, slowly and with caution, like a hunter approaching a deer, beckoning calmly, "Just hold up."

One of the other men, his rifle pointed at Rick, chimed in, "This is the guy that killed Lou, so we got nothin' to talk about," narrowing his sights on Rick, malice and hatred filling his eyes. Quickly, he was interrupted by the leader.

"The thing about nowadays," said the man with the ball, "is we got nothin' but time. Say your piece, Daryl." With that one sentence, a tiny spark of hope ignited in my heart. However, I did not dare to let it grow further, especially as I could see so plainly the hatred in the eyes of each of the men surrounding us.

Daryl, seizing the opportunity, began. "These people," he said, gesturing toward Rick, Michonne, and myself, "you're gonna let 'em go." He stole the briefest of glances at Rick and Michonne, returning his gaze to meet the eyes of the man who was holding our lives in his hands. "These are good people," he continued.

"Now I-I-I-I think Lou would disagree with you on that," replied their leader. "I'll, of course, have to speak for him and all 'cause your friend here strangled him in a bathroom."

"You want blood," Daryl responded. "I get it." Then, he dropped his weapons to the ground, spreading his arms to the side, hands outward in submission. My heart nearly stopped, knowing that there was now nothing to stop the men from shooting Daryl and then killing us. Daryl, appearing completely unphased, continued. "Take it from me, man." He slowly shuffled over, arms outstretched. "Come on."

With a look somewhere between sadness and unbelief in his eyes, the man with the ball stared into Daryl's eyes and declared, "This man killed our friend. You say he's good people. See now that right there i-i-is a lie. It's a lie!"

At that, Daryl lowered his hands as a pained look crossed his face. "Come o-" he began, before being cut off by a rifle butt to the stomach. My heart lurched once again, the abrupt action taking me by surprise.

"No!" cried Rick, as he watched this man that he clearly cared about double over in pain. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I could hear Mason wailing in the background, as I watched my last hope being pounded into the driver's side of the truck.

"Teach 'im fellas!" their leader beckoned. "Teach 'im all the way." The men continued to lay into Daryl, fist after fist, and I heard a cry from the other side of the truck, and turned my eyes to see Carl drop Mason onto the seat as he was dragged out of the car, with a knife held to his neck.

Rick, his features contorted in rage, attempted to stand to his feet, shouting "You leave him be!" before being slammed back to the ground. Michonne turned to reach for her katana, coming face to face with the barrel of a gun.

"You'll get yours," the man attached to the gun declared menacingly. "You just wait your turn." As Rick began to reason with the men, saying that he was the only one involved in Lou's death, I took in my surrounding and the current situation, searching for anything that I could do to rescue my friends, but before I got the chance, the man with his gun to Michonne's head enclosed the back of my neck in his iron grip with his free hand.

"First we're gonna beat Daryl to death," the leader threatened. "Then we'll have the girls. I think they'll be plenty fun. After that we'll have the boy. Then I'm gonna shoot you and then we'll be square." He began to laugh as Rick seethed and shook in rage. Carl, in an attempt to escape, wound up on the ground, a man on top of him, laughter filling the air. Then the next thing I knew, someone's gun had gone off, and the man with the gun was doubled over with a hacking cough. Rick flew around, landing one solid punch before he was kicked to the ground, the man pounding into him with his foot.

I could hear Carl groaning as he writhed on the ground, desperately trying to reach the knife that his captor had dropped. The sound of Mason's wailing filled my ears, taking over my senses so that I could hear nothing else. With a surge of adrenaline, I wrenched myself from my captor's grip and reached for the discarded katana. In less than a moment, I had the weapon in my hands and had brought it down on the man with his gun still held to Michonne's head. In mere seconds, I had ended his life.

Everyone stopped for a second in shock, not having expected that I had that in me. Both Rick and Michonne took advantage of the brief moment, Rick placing his mouth to the leader's neck and tearing out his jugular with his teeth as Michonne took up our captor's gun and leveled it at the man holding Carl. I stood watching in complete shock as Rick, blood dripping from his mouth and down his front, took a knife off the rapidly-dying leader and sauntered toward the man who dared to lay a hand on his son, declaring, "He's mine." Then, he slammed the knife into the man's chest, pulling it out and slamming it back in again. Michonne and I ran for the boys as Rick, in his rage, continued to stab the man, until there was nothing left to him. Eventually, he ran out of steam, getting up and leaning himself against the side of the truck to watch for walkers. Carl and Michonne climbed into the back of the van, and within minutes the boy had fallen asleep, head on the woman's lap. I followed soon, sitting in the passenger seat, Mason in my arms.

I woke to Mason's cooing as he played with my hair, gently tugging it and trying to loop it around his fingers. As I climbed from the truck, I glanced around, taking in my surroundings. I could see Carl sitting in silence with Michonne, watching her sharpen her katana, while Daryl and Rick, freshly cleaned as if nothing had happened the night prior, were packing some provisions for the road. Noticing that I was finally awake, Michonne and Carl stood up, gathering their things, and before long we were on the road once again. Silence fell between us as we walked along, Rick and Michonne in the front and Mason and I taking up the rear. The only sounds that could be heard were the sounds of the dead leaves crunching beneath our feet and Mason's occasional cooing.

As we walked, I studied the newcomer, Daryl, from behind. He plodded along, giant pack on his back, crossbow in his hand, as if he was completely at ease with the world. I was not entirely sure whether or not to trust him. However, if the way that Carl walked with him in ease, as well as his father's relative comfort in leaving him to the man, spoke of anything, it told me that this was a man that they knew and trusted with their lives. Therefore, I decided that I could, too.


End file.
